Surrender Boxed Set (Surrender Series Volume 1 - 7. BDSM romance with man love, bad boys, and billionaires.)

by Anita Lawless

I nod and pretend to be interested in this information I already know. Time is ticking away and the true test of my acting abilities is yet to come.

  “I’ve no complaints about anything I see here,” I say, pointing to the papers. “I’d love to meet him.”

  “I’ll tell Rhonda to send him in.” She gives her secretary the go ahead and the knots in my stomach tighten more. Dread leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

  The door opens moments later and in walks Damien, all swagger and sophistication in a slate grey suit that molds to his body perfectly. His black hair is slicked back and he has that dangerous look that makes me swallow hard and breathe a little too fast.

  He greets Wanda first, then turns his eyes on me. I don’t miss how they boldly rake over my hip hugging black slacks and red blouse. My face heats and my temper starts to simmer.

  “Mistress O.” He extends his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard many stories about your talents.”

  He brings my hand to his lips, sweeping a kiss across my knuckles. Then he flicks his tongue out over the top of my fingers, tasting my flesh and making me inhale sharply. Damn the impudent bastard!

  “Thank you,” I say, trying to keep my irritation out of my voice. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Master Damien. I’ve looked over your contract and I find your terms suitable.”

  He grins a Cheshire grin that gives me an odd kind of ache right in the center of my chest.

  “I’m pleased. But before we sign anything I’d like to look you over.” He clasps his hands behind his back and continues to pin me with that smug, confident stare.

  I want to slap his face, but that would spoil the ruse. And he is in his rights, damn him, to demand this. It’s part of the contract, much to my chagrin. All I can do is relent.

  “Of course.” I try to sound confident and experienced in this situation.

  Wanda sits down and watches us.

  She’s going to stay in the room while he inspects me like a side of beef? My pulse now rushes in my ears. My face is so hot from a combination of embarrassment and anger I’m sure I’m the color of a tomato.

  “Please remove everything but your bra, panties, and stockings.” He grabs the other office chair and positions it at the side of Wanda’s desk. Then he sits back in it, props his ankle on a knee, and waits for me to strip.

  I bite the side of my cheek to keep from screaming curses at him. Then I try to remain calm as his eyes feast on me while I unbutton my blouse, though I can’t rid my fingers of a slight shake.

  An artificial breeze from the air exchange system skims over my skin, raising tiny bumps. My instinct is to cross my arms over my breasts, which spill over the top of my lacy bra cups, but from what I know of the BDSM lifestyle I don’t think an experienced sub would do that. So I resist the temptation to cover up and avoid his scrutiny. To make matters worse, Wanda regards me like I’m an oil painting hanging in a museum. To say I’m embarrassed is putting it mildly.

  “Turn for me,” he commands, twirling one finger.

  I bite my bottom lip when I’m not facing them, vowing I’ll get revenge on that smug jerk for this humiliation. One day.

  Once I’m facing them again, Damien unfolds his long body from the chair and saunters toward me. His eyes never leave mine as he does so, and my nostrils flare as I fight my temper and to breathe evenly.

  He walks around me and his blazer grazes my bare skin, sending shockwaves of sensation through my hyper aware nerves. Primal instinct screams at me to wrap my hands around his corded neck and squeeze, but I fight that wrath. I grit my teeth, waiting for him to touch me, knowing that he will. My treacherous libido carves it, my practical brain dreads it.

  His hot breath fans my neck as he leans in and inhales the perfume I wear. He moves closer and his lips almost brush my ear. I can smell his cologne now—a clean scent that reminds me of the sea. I lick my lips and realize my sex is growing damp. My whole damn body is declaring mutiny on me!

  When his wide, warm palm touches my wrist, I jump, hoping Wanda doesn’t notice my flinch. His fingers sweep up my arm, and the higher they climb the harder my heart beats.

  Then he does the unexpected. He gives my nearly bare ass a sharp smack as he circles me like the predator he is.

  I want again to slap his face, maybe grind the spiked heel of my stiletto into the toe of his Gucci, but for my sister I hold back. I keep an image of her face at the forefront of my mind to strength my resolve and lessen my reaction to him.

  “Very nice, sweetheart,” he whispers close to my other ear before he stops in front of me once more. “I can’t wait to see you naked.”

  I bite my tongue hard and look away from his chiseled face.

  Asshole!

  “Mistress O, I think you’ll make the perfect sub.” He brushes some red curls from my shoulder and I try not to shiver.

  “I’m glad I please you,” I say, using the same tone I use on difficult professors at school.

  “Wonderful,” Wanda says, opening a drawer in her desk to remove two keycards. “After you’ve signed the papers, I’ll have Emile show you to your room.”

  Our room, I think, and it hits me. Of course, to keep up our ruse, we’ll have to share a room. Just great. I’ll be trapped in a lavish bedroom in a sex resort with Damien.

  Emile arrives in his tight shorts and little else. He wears a bow tie that reminds me of male strippers I once went to see with Sasha. He gives us both a knowing grin before he turns and leads us from the room.

  “I’m not going out there like this,” I whisper to Damien, holding him back when the doors open.

  “Darling, you’re supposed to be my submissive,” he drawls in my ear. “Doms often parade their scantily clad playmates through a Surrender resort. Hell, they’re usually naked. You’re getting off lucky. And you want to act the part so we can get your sister back, right?”

  I grit my teeth. “Yes.”

  “Then walk.” To add further insult, he slaps my ass again as I inch forward.

  Inside I’m fuming, and I want to whirl on him and spew curses, but instead I focus on Emile’s muscled, oiled back and follow him and Damien out of the room. I plot revenge as I go. Once this is all over and my sister is safe, I will find a way to get even with this arrogant dom.

  We head up a staircase carpeted in red and stop after we pass a few doors. I’m thankful few people see me, but my whole being heats with humiliation when some male and female members walk by and give both me and my dom an appreciative perusal.

  Emile leaves us and wishes us a pleasant stay. Damien swipes the keycard through the silver lock and lets us inside.

  The door clicks shut, sealing me in alone with him. A sense of doom and anticipation bloom in my stomach.

  He walks toward me, and when his hand encircles my elbow, I blurt, “I’m not sleeping with you.”

  Damien chuckles that damnable chuckle. Then he pins me with a smoldering gaze as he brings his face closer to mine. “Here’s something to think about. We need to make this good, convincing. For all we know, there could be spies inside this resort, reporting to David or Drake. Whoever our embezzler is. This room could be wired.”

  “You’re being paranoid.” I wrinkle my nose at him, scoot back a step to make space between us. I don’t like the way he’s getting to me. Damien is utterly too male and too gorgeous for my own good.

  “We have to be paranoid, have to be careful. Your sister’s life depends on it.” He continues to hold my wrist, and now he strokes his thumb back and forth over the big vein that beats with my erratic pulse.

  My sister. Thoughts of her life in jeopardy put my pride on the back burner. I inhale deeply then whisper back, “Look … I don’t know a lot about the rules involved in this whole BDSM lifestyle. You’re going to have to coach me.” I hate being vulnerable like this with him, but my options are limited, and if I’m going to play the part well I need his guidance.

  One corner of his mouth crooks up. He takes his time replying,
drawing my wrist up to his lips first and kissing it, then flitting the tip of his tongue over my sensitive skin. “It’ll be a pleasure, Mistress O.”

  “But I’m still not having sex with you.”

  The corner of his mouth lifts higher. “We’ll see.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I can be a very convincing man.”

  I shiver as he trails kisses up to the fold of my elbow. I try to jerk my arm away but he holds me. His free hand snakes around my bare waist and I feel as if his touch scalds me. Wetness slickens my sex and I curse my traitorous desire.

  At my ear, he stops and tugs on the lobe with his teeth before saying, “We’ll keep it simple tonight. Vanilla bdsm for the new girl. I won’t fuck you yet, sweetheart.”

  “You bet you won’t!” I jerk back and finally get some space. I need to get my breathing and response to him under control.

  “Only with your consent,” he says as he walks toward the bed while removing his blazer. “I’ll never do anything you don’t want me to. But I plan to have you begging for it by the time I’m done.”

  I feel my eyebrows shoot upward. “Never!”

  He continues stripping. We’ll see, sweetheart.”

  I’m tempted to stomp my foot and stomp out of the room, but I reason this is all part of the act. Damien is just putting on a good show for the potential bugs the room might hold. That’s it.

  He soon stands at the side of the bed in nothing but his tight fitting boxer briefs and his arousal strains against the front of the material. My eyes lock in on the impressive erection bulging inside the black garment. I swallow and look away, focusing on his face instead. This doesn’t help either, since he’s wearing a wolfish grin full of gleaming white teeth.

  How I hate Damien Walters in that moment. My cheeks heat with embarrassment and I wish I could click my stilettos together three times, whisper there’s no place like home, and get the hell out of here.

  But that’s not happening.

  “Come here, Mistress.” He holds a hand out to me.

  I walk forward and take it, trying hard not to stare at his cock.

  “Follow my lead,” he says. “Our safe words will be red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for keep going. Understand?”

  I nod.

  “If you’re uncomfortable with the scene at anytime, use red. If you want me to back off, use yellow. If you’re good with our play, say green.”

  I feel like a moron, like he’s schooling me like a child, but I simply nod again. After all, I’m playing the role of a professional submissive, so I can’t appear scandalized.

  “Are you ready to begin?”

  “Yes.”

  He quirks an eyebrow up at me, as if he’s expecting something.

  I’m confused, and my face must show it, because he continues, looking slightly annoyed. “When we scene, you will refer to me as Master. I’ll refer to you as Mistress. Got it.”

  “Got it.”

  He crosses his arms over his sculpted chest when I don’t add the title.

  I try not to roll my eyes. “Master.”

  “That’s better.” He reaches out and strokes my cheek. His smooth, warm palm does things to me I wish I could ignore. “Now get naked.”

  He steps back and waits for me to shed my underwear. I bite my lip and glare at him, but he just snorts at my irritation.

  Sighing, I unhook my bra and let it fall to the floor. My heavy breasts pop from the underwire cups and my nipples tingle from the exposure, and his blatant inspection. I try not to notice how his eyes darken with lust as I shimmy out of my panties.

  He moves close and sweeps the pad of his thumb over my nipple. The flesh pulses and grows tighter. I bite my lip to keep from reacting. His thick, hard cock brushes against my inner thigh and my nostrils flare from a sharp intake of breath. My pussy throbs now in primal response.

  “Tonight I’m going to handcuff you to the bed and spank your ass red,” he tells me. “You need a little punishment for being so willful.”

  Punishment? I bite my tongue.

  “Kneel on the bed. Place your wrists against the rails.” His tone is firm, low and sexy. It sends a thrill up my spine that I disapprove of.

  Still I obey, keeping up the ploy in case we are being watched by Sasha’s kidnapper.

  He uses silvery handcuffs to fasten my wrists to the bed rails. One big palm is pressed to the side of my head, urging me to rest it on the satiny mound of pillows beneath me. My ass now juts high in the air and he spread my legs wider apart. As his hand slinks up my thigh, I stop him.

  “No touching.” I gasp as his finger barely skims the crease where my sex meets my upper thigh.

  He bends over me and his naked, hot skin scorches my spine, his throbbing cock strokes between my legs, narrowly missing my sex. “It’ll be difficult to spank you if I can’t touch you,” he murmurs close to my ear.

  “I mean, no touching my erogenous zones,” I manage to reply. “You can spank me but that’s it.”

  His mocking laughter returns. “Honey, when you’re with me, every inch of your body becomes an erogenous zone.”

  “Just get on with it,” I hiss.

  Finally he peels his distracting body away from mine and leaves the bed. When he returns, he has something to show me.

  “Your choice. Pick your punishment.”

  He lays down a Poplar paddle, an old corporal punishment device I’ve seen in museums. Next he adds something he calls a tawse. A mild, musky scent drifts off the leather tongs and tickles my nostrils.

  Last he shows me a nylon cane. I decide on the paddle and brace myself for the first blow. I want to ask will it hurt much? But I have a game to play. I’m already supposed to know this stuff. So I bite my lip and squeeze my eyes shut, remembering if it gets too intense I can use safe words. My ass tingles in anticipation of the first blow.

  Whap!

  My butt jiggles and I rock forward on the bed, bumping my head into the base of the railed headboard. I let out a whimper and Damien bends low, asking if I am ready to continue? Do I want to use a safe word?

  I shake my head and say, “Green.”

  “Green what?” His husky voice taunts.

  “Green, Master.”

  I soak in my reaction to the first slap while I wait for another. Being a student of anthropology, human behavior is always a curiosity. I’m fascinating by why we do the things we do. Right now, I’ve got a hands-on case study. While I’m intrigued by the BDSM culture, I never expected to enjoy the shock of pain, to have it heighten my horniness. I knew that some people in the lifestyle enjoyed the combination of stimuli, the massive bursts of adrenaline, but while I’d always secretly wanted to try this I’d expected to dislike it.

  However, my feelings are just the opposite. My pussy throbs as he plants another smack to my right butt cheek.

  Slap!

  I let a squeal out this time as the pain rockets through me, but pleasure flows too. My nipples ache and feel on fire as they rub against the cool, smooth sheets beneath me. My pussy throbs and grows wetter. I can feel juices trickling down my inner thigh.

  Another thwack kisses my ass, and then another. I yelp and squirm but I still don’t give the safe word. I’m too lost in this new experience, totally abandoned to submission and bliss.

  His muscled body pushes into me again. His lips brush the shell of my ear. “Either you’re a hell of an actor or you’re enjoying this.”

  I growl out, “Bastard,” before his lips leave me.

  Another smug chuckle. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But if you really were my submissive, I’d have to add more punishment for that.”

  The paddle kisses my ass one more time, and I’m on the verge of coming when my cell phone chirps.

  “Shit!” I say before I can stop myself.

  Damien hops from the bed. “Yup, you were definitely enjoying it.”

  I throw another curse at him. He just walks away and smirks.

  “Ummm, how about
untying me so I can get that?”

  Instead he ignores me, picks up my cell phone, and checks out the call display. That’s when his smugness falters and his face goes serious. “It’s your sister.”

  I wriggle in my bonds. “Untie me!”

  He rushes to do just that, slipping the phone in my hand the moment I’m free.

  “Hello?” I hope I don’t sound as breathless to her as I do to myself.

  There’s crying and then a pause. My stomach tightens when I hear another voice in the background, but I can’t make out words or gender.

  “Opie? Help me…” Sasha sounds like she’s speaking through swollen lips.

  “Sasha, sweetie, I’m coming. Where are you?”

  Then another voice drifts over the connection. It’s been altered in some way, so it sounds genderless and has a mechanical inflection. “You want to see your sister alive again, you’ll play by my rules.”

  “Yes, definitely,” I blurt, just wanting to keep this guy on the line. Before we got here, we put a tracing device on my phone so we can track incoming calls from Sasha. “Anything you want.”

  “Your sister has files that are very incriminating, but she won’t tell me where she’s hidden them.” The captor holds the phone closer to my sister again and I hear her muffled tears. “Tell her to tell me, or I’ll kill her.”

  “Sasha,” I yell into the phone. “Tell him. Tell him so I can come and get you.”

  Her soft, slurred voice returns. “I can’t do that, sis. I’m sorry. Just remember to guard my secrets.”

  I frown at this and go to ask her what she means, but then the line goes dead. The phone slowly slips from my ear and I press END with tears blurring my vision.

  “What did she say?” Damien grips my shoulders. “You did great keeping the conversation going. I think we can trace the call from that.”

  I look up at him and struggle to find words, but then my sister’s odd phrase echoes in my mind. “She said for me to remember to guard her secrets.”

  Damien’s handsome face breaks into a wide smile. “That clever woman. Come on.” He slips off the bed. “Get dressed. We’re going out to dinner.”

  “Dinner?”

  He pulls me close as I walk to the dresser and whispers, “The name of the club David owns is Guard My Secrets. I think she wants us to pay him a visit.”